Oh, fuck 'em. Why ruin his mood thinking about those brain-dead bozos when he could think about Tess instead? Her white dress had haunted him all the way home. The way it strained across her chest made him want to rip open those buttons, rub his face against that bulging cleavage, licking and kissing like his life depended on it.
She was so self-contained and mysterious, he couldn't predict what she'd be like in bed. His fantasies morphed and changed so often that he'd run the entire gamut. Maybe beneath that shy, subtle exterior, she was a hot little nympho sex fiend. What a concept; Tess astride him and riding hard, her flushed, beautiful face flung back, moaning in a rising tempest of pleasure, her wet opening clutching his cock with each stroke. Or maybe she was the sweet, mellow, earth mother type, hugging him tenderly and making soft, encouraging sounds as he rocked his hips, sliding lazily in and out. Relaxing and delicious.
The phone rang, and he knew with every cell in his body that it was Tess. He lunged for it, and stopped. Forced himself to wait, like a teenage girl afraid to seem too eager. Two rings. Three, and he couldn't take it anymore. He snatched it up. “Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Mr. Markham?”
A wave of anticipation made him dizzy. “Hi, Tess. Call me Jonah.”
“Oh. Hi. How did you know it was me?”
“I've memorized your voice.” What an understatement. Her low, golden voice brushed over his nerve endings like her hair would brush over his body if it were loose. Feathery, silky, sliding, soft. Like a kiss.
She hesitated, and he forced himself to wait. He didn't dare rush her. So far, the eager, panting puppy routine had gained him nothing.
“I just wanted to tell you that I'd, uh, like to take you up on your offer. If it's still open,” she said hesitantly.
“Oh, excellent.” He wanted to whoop with triumph. “It's about an hour and a half from the city. What time can you be there Friday?”
“Well, my final appointment is three o'clock, since I was planning to head up to Cedar Hills, soâ”
“So you could be there by six.” Excitement roughened his voice.
He sensed her sudden caution in her long pause.
Chill out, bonehead.
“If you like,” she murmured.
If he liked. Hah. If she only knew. “Let me give you directions.”
He managed to dictate directions to his place and say good night without blurting out anything inappropriate or otherwise making an ass of himself. He had to keep reminding himself that she hadn't agreed to wild and crazy sex. She hadn't even agreed to a date. He had no reason to hope that he might get lucky.
Of course, he almost always did, but Tess Langley was unlike any woman he knew. The usual statistical norms didn't apply with her.
He knew that she was attracted to him. He'd seen it in her eyes. She got flustered and confused, she blushed often, she forgot what she was saying, all the signs were there. But she never flirted. He didn't know how long it had been since a woman had completely stonewalled him. He threw out lure after lure, and she just brushed them aside with her shy, mysterious smile, making him feel foolish and needy and obvious. And then she put her hot, strong, sorceress's hands on him and whisked him off to never-never land.
Weird. The massages weren't sexual, but they were so much more intimate than the sex he'd had lately with Cynthia. Sex with Cynthia was sweaty and pounding and highly athletic, but not particularly intimate. He always finished feeling like he'd played a really demanding set of racquetball. To say nothing of those fucking nails. He had to hold her down on the bed at all times to keep from getting hurt. Having to apply antiseptic ointment after sex got old really fast.
Tess's nails were short, buffed to a delicate pink glow. He wanted to kiss each one. And her lips, that same soft blush pink. She had him thinking about romance, enchantment. Not racquetball. Or Bactine.
Time to get that excess oil off his skin. He wandered into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He tossed away his clothes and got underneath the hot, pounding spray, speculating about the hidden details of her stunning body as he sudsed up with shower gel. He'd seen the perfect slender ankles, graceful, rounded calves, and cute, dimpled knees. Then the skirt defeated him. He bet her thighs were sweet and soft and rounded, like her phenomenal ass. And she had a great belly, plump and Marilyn Monroe-ish. He would love to see her in low-slung jeans with a too-short tank top straining over her breasts, and that cute belly pooching out a little, just begging to be nuzzled.
Oh, hell, if he was going that way, he might as well go to the end of the line. He scooped up some lather and took himself in hand with a sigh of surrender. A guy had to do what a guy had to do if he wanted a hope in hell of sleeping tonight.
Forget the top, the jeans, the kinky white dress. He wanted her stark naked, standing in front of him. He would lounge in a chair, throbbing cock in hand, pumping himself slowly as she turned, arching and undulating. Showing him all the dips and curves and sweet mysteries of her body. Plump breasts that would be so soft and heavy in his hands. Nipples puckered and hard, aching for his mouth.
He would tell her to change position. Widen her legs, arch her back, lift her arms, toss her hair. Put her leg up on the chair, bend over and show him that sweet, round ass, all open and ready for him. The shadowy cleft, the crimson lips of her sex. He beckoned her closer, and the fantasy split into Version A and Version B. He couldn't decide between them. In Version A, she sank to her knees, green-gold eyes glinting flirtatiously up through long dark lashes, and gripped his cock in her strong, slender hands. Then she took him into her mouth, sucking him, taking all of him, deep and hot and wet. Fantastic. The image blurred and segued seamlessly into Version B, seconded by his pumping hand, his ragged breathing. She straddled his legs and very slowly sank down until the head of his cock nudged delicately into her wet, swollen folds, probing deeper and deeper, sinking lower until he was buried inside her. He would grip her hips, right on the lush curve, and cut loose, pounding himself heavily into her moist depths. Deep and hot and faster, faster . . . oh, God. The orgasm pulsed through him. He stood there for a long time, head flung back under the stream of water. Weak-kneed, sucking air, sputtering out water.
He turned off the water, hoping only that this exercise in self-indulgence had cleared his head enough to start coming up with a plan.
Damn. A house party. It was going to be tricky, to make his lie into a truth at such short notice.
To hell with it. A solution would come to him. That was his genius, finding solutions to problems. More important, and more fun, was to plan the menu. He had to schedule a trip to the gourmet grocery. Order the pastry from that kick-ass fabulous bakery next to his office. And he had to give some serious thought to the wines, too.
It all had to be perfect for her.
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The sky was streaked with sunset pink when Tess peered for the last time at the directions taped to her dashboard, and made the turnoff into the driveway. She drove down a narrow road through towering pines and firs. She saw the glimmer of lake water, then the house, and was abruptly sure she'd gotten the right place.
It was a simple, angular place that blended harmoniously with its surroundings. Larger than it appeared, a subtle, weathered color like the rocks at the lakeside, it had a deep terrace and picture windows looking out at the lake and Mt. Hood. The only vehicle was a black Ford pickup, which seemed odd. Maybe his guests were late.
She got out and looked around, enchanted. The trees that framed the lake seemed at first glance to be an impenetrable dark wall, but when she looked deeper, she glimpsed vaulted depths, vast inner spaces. A fragrant mystery, redolent with tree resin, wood, and water.
The lake lapped tenderly against pebbles and tree roots that descended right down into the water. She saw no neighbors, no powerboats. The slosh and gurgle of the little waves was sensual, almost hypnotic. She gazed at the perfect reflection of the mountain in the lake water, blazing with wild colors and rippling in the soft breeze.
It was so beautiful, her throat tightened and her eyes stung. Nature beckoned to her with its savage allure. It didn't pretend to be anything. It had nothing to prove. It had no need to impress or placate or convince. It just was what it was, with serene indifference. Complete unto itself. Dear God, how she wished she could be like that.
The screen door squeaked. Usually when she was awestruck and torn open by the beauty and mystery of the ocean, or a sunset, or the stars, the feeling diminished when another person walked into it.
Jonah didn't diminish it. He deepened it.
She turned, composing herself. He stood on the porch, dressed in jeans and boots and a dark gray sweatshirt. They stared at each other.
“Hi,” she said.
He nodded. “Glad you made it OK. Any problems?”
She shook her head. Social custom now dictated that she climb the steps, shake his hand, say polite, formulaic things, but the program wouldn't run. The screen in her mind stayed blank, cursor blinking.
He was so handsome. The sharp, austere planes of his face were warmed by the sunset's fiery glow. The jutting cheekbones, the shadows beneath his eyes. He looked wary. Apprehensive.
The place was silent but for the immense rustling of wind in the trees. Too silent. No laughter or talking from inside. No music.
“Have the rest of your guests not arrived yet?” she asked.
His eyes flicked away. He looked up at the sky, down at his feet, and came down the porch stairs, seizing her massage table and suitcase. He carried them up to the door, beckoning her to follow with a jerk of his chin. “Come on in. Let me get you something to drink.”
The front room was dominated by picture windows and a flagstone fireplace. It segued into the kitchen at the back, with a rustic table dividing the two spaces. Delicious food smells wafted out of it.
No sign of anyone, no purses, suitcases, coats, voices. Nothing.
“Where are your guests?” she demanded.
His face looked tense with apprehension. “Uh, that's something I have to discuss with you. They, uh . . . canceled on me.”
“Canceled?” Her jaw sagged.
“Yeah. Something came up.”
She was bewildered. “But you should've called me. Obviously you'll want to reschedule if they couldn'tâ”
“No.” He shook his head slowly.
“No?” Her voice rose to a terrified squeak.
“Nothing's changed. It's just that instead of giving massages to a whole bunch of people, you'll give them all to me.”
She backed toward the door, pulling against the palpable tug of his hungry, possessive gaze. “You lied to me,” she accused.
He scooted in front of her, blocking her flight to the door. “No, I didn't. I justâ”
“I can't possibly stay here alone with you!”
“Don't worry about the money,” he said. “The deal stands. I prefer not to share you anyway. As far as I'm concerned, it's for the best.”
“I don't give a damn about the money. I'm not comfortable with this at all.” She hated the way her voice quivered, the color rising in her face. She yanked open her purse and rummaged for her wallet. “I
hate
being lied to. Here, take back your goddamn checkâ”
Condoms exploded out of her purse and scattered across the floor. Over a dozen of them. All different brands and colors.
Jonah stared down at them, back up at her. A grin lit up his face as he crouched down and started gathering them up. “Wow. Talk about high expectations.”
Tess dropped to her knees and wrenched the condoms out of his hands, shoving them into her purse. “These are not mine,” she hissed. “My roommate plays practical jokes. I'm going to kill her, I swear to God.”
Jonah plucked one off the floor and examined it. “This one glows in the dark,” he remarked. “Very cool.”
She snatched it from him. “Trish dies. And I am out of here.”
She lunged for the door, yelping as his arms closed around her from behind in a gentle but implacable embrace. “Wait, Tess. Please.”
“Let go of me.” Her whole body vibrated with the electrical charge of contact with his body. It was such a hot, shivery rush, she almost burst into tears. She fought against a surge of blind panic.
“I will, I swear, in just a second. Calm down and listen. Please.”
She twisted until she could see his eyes. So pale and penetrating. They saw too much. She couldn't bear it. “Talk fast,” she whispered.
“First, let me apologize. I really wanted this, and I put it together at the last minute. That's why my guests fell throughâ”
“So you admit it,” she challenged him. “You lied. When you lured me up here, there was no house party. You made it all up, didn't you?”
“There was a firm intention to organize one,” he protested. “It just turned out that my friends had plans. I didn't mean to mislead you. I'm sorry if the situation is other than you anticipated, but I'll do everything in my power to make you feel comfortable. I swear, I'll be so good.”
She glanced down at the thick, steely forearms that were wrapped across her chest. “Then why are you manhandling me?”
“To keep you from running, of course,” he said patiently. “At least stay for dinner. I cooked this whole elaborate meal, just for you.”
“You can cook?” She twisted to look at him again, startled.
“Yes. I'm a very good cook. And I've got a bottle of Chianti breathing on the table.” His voice was soft with pleading. “Call your roommate, tell her the phone number, give her directions, have her call you every hour on the hour to make sure your virtue's still intact. Call your mother, call whoever you want. Please, Tess. You're safe here.”